


Realignment

by Melliebae



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Aged-Up Yuri Plisetsky, Alternate Universe, Bodyguard Otabek Altin, Crossdressing, Established Relationship, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, POV Yuri Plisetsky, Russian Mafia, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:28:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27842266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melliebae/pseuds/Melliebae
Summary: Though Otabek is no longer his bodyguard, he stays with Yuri in Saint-Petersburg. He stays to protect, to continue cooking with Yuri, and to, hopefully, become something more.This fic is the impulsive result of me reading one of the best fanfics I have ever read ever. The events of this fic occur after the events ofRing-Fingered Men by Helico_pter.I would highly recommend reading that first. It is insanely good.
Relationships: Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky
Comments: 7
Kudos: 46





	Realignment

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Ring-Fingered Men](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23276257) by [helico_pter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/helico_pter/pseuds/helico_pter). 



Mid-April

\---

“We leave tomorrow,” Yuri said through a mouthful of piroshki. The warm dough coated his fingers in grease as he clutched tightly, some of the meat popping free from it's enclosure. The plates had already been cleared.

Viktor waved his hand, smiling against the edge of a glass of red wine. “Maybe let's wait for your dishwasher to make a full recovery, hm, Yurechka?”

Otabek made a short grunt from the kitchen a few paces away, the clinking of dishes and water hissing through the faucet bracketing the sound. Yuri feared this was becoming a regular habit for them. The drive up from Moscow didn't seem to bother Viktor as he made it weekly, insisting he had 'business' in Saint-Petersburg anyhow.

“Whatever,” Yuri said, clipped and dry.

Plates stacked and dried, Otabek reached up to file them into their cabinet and winced marginally less than yesterday at the pain in his side. Yuri forced his eyes away and found Viktor still smiling his way with an obvious, unspoken jab on his lips.

“Don't you have somewhere to be?” Yuri asked only after he stuffed the remaining piroshki in his mouth.

Gold flashed on Viktor's watch as he glanced down. “Ah, actually, I do,” Viktor responded with irritating cheer.

Viktor zipped around the world conducting business in Geneva and Naples and fucking Norilsk for all Yuri knew. 

The cold slide of a blade through the throat of the man that dared to harm Otabek consumed Yuri's dreams. Yet Yuri was just in Saint-Petersburg, playing house with Otabek. So unfair.

“I don't get why he's already come for dinner four times,” Yuri complained to Otabek as soon as the door clicked behind Viktor. “It's a long way from Moscow for some free piroshki.”

Dark eyes flicked over Yuri as Otabek gave him nothing more than a perturbed frown. Yuri could hear the ungrateful whine in his own words. All that Yuri had was from the family— his apartment, his identity, even Otabek— and Viktor floated the bills.

Potya mewed for scraps by his feet and he offered her a soft head scratch instead.

“I just want to feel normal again,” Yuri mumbled under this breath, though the twitch of Otabek's brow indicated he'd been heard.

“How did you use to do that?” Otabek asked and Yuri gave him a confused look. “Feel normal.”

 _Normal._ On the surface, what they had wasn't so different from the shop. They filled the air with the smoky comfort of savory foods and lingering looks. Otabek's hand would grace the small of his back or the curve of his leg from time to time, protective and present.

But it was emptier. Quieter. He missed the nervous twirl of Georgi's ring. The flashy click of Mila's heeled boots. The hushed chatter of Uncles at the table, too soft to comprehend, but firmly present.

His 18th birthday was like a fever dream, like he'd never pressed his lips to Otabek's under a cold, snowy fall by the soft glow of the shop light.

“I guess I'd go shopping,” Yuri said pathetically, unsatisfied with his own answer.

“Then go shopping,” Otabek said, gathering his things. “For your birthday.”

Yuri rolled his eyes. Right. His 'birthday' was this week. He had two of them, now— the real one in March, and then the one he'd have to learn to pretend his way through shortly after.

Though he supposed it wasn't impossible they were both fake.

Otabek approached the front door with boots and a lighter coat. With April came Spring weather, still cold enough to chill the skin, but just warm enough to pack away Otabek's thick winter coat with the fur-lined hood.

“Beka, we're supposed-”

“I'll handle the groceries,” Otabek firmly informed his boot laces. “Shop.”

The streets were bustling with early evening enthusiasm. The mall wasn't far and the soft whoosh of passing cars carried him through the twinkling lights of the city. Saint-Petersburg wasn't a small city, but it wasn't like Moscow, either. The familiar rectangle of sky held high by walls of concrete buildings was a foreign past traded in for concentric circles and wide, decorated intersections.

Pop music and boisterous chatter thrummed through Yuri's veins as he brushed past store fronts of silver, pink, and white color schemes. Clean air filled his nostrils with a hint of new plastic, the scent piled high in the atrium of the mall. He felt exposed and alone in a way he'd rarely experienced in Moscow. There were no foggy eyes of soviet era elders watching by the doors, filling crosswords and kneading dough. Instead there were flickering glances of young blood, sizing up his fashion sense as he afforded them the same.

A trendy store with black walls that seeped a low, sensual club mix caught his attention. A shimmering gold dress sparkled by the door, risen like a Phoenix from the ashes of his torched home in Moscow. His heart pained as he remembered Mila. Otabek's eyes on her, appreciating the garment.

 _Mila._ How was she?

He eyed the gold dress. It rode mid-thigh on the mannequin, just tight enough to suggest curves without giving them away. Plastic sequins shimmered in the light, hanging loose to catch as many eyes as possible on the breeze of the person wearing it.

Too embarrassed to ask an employee about the mannequin, Yuri located the rack and grabbed his most likely size. He didn't try it on. He couldn't. Even holding it up against his body would be a risk. He was purchasing this as a _gift_ for a _female person._

He hid his face behind his hair at the counter. The employee popped bright pink bubble gum with careless attitude as she waited for his card to process.

Purchase hidden safely in a bag, he shoved it into his jacket and dashed straight home.

The apartment was empty, but he locked the bathroom door behind him anyway as he pulled the garment from his coat. The bag crinkled in his fingers as he pulled it away and held the dress up to his body, warm glee spreading through him to the tips of his toes. He stripped down to his briefs quickly and slipped the dress over his body. Otabek's charm bracelet jingled quietly on his wrist.

It was _gorgeous._ The soft yellow of the golden shimmer popped against his bright green eyes. He chewed his lip nervously in front of the bathroom mirror, clicking his nails over the dangle of sequins.

The image felt right in a matter of moments, like he was made to sparkle this way.

Yuri wore a small smile as he traipsed around the apartment, twisting his hips to hear the soft click and rattle of the sequins. He looked down to watch the fabric shift over his hips, fanning and wrapping. 

The wind howled on the windows with a nasty hiss as gusts picked up where the sun had left off. He wondered if Otabek would be too cold coming home in his lighter coat. He wouldn't be home for a while given how many groceries they'd needed (and how meticulously Otabek tended to compare prices), so Yuri felt safe in his new purchase.

Or maybe he wanted to get caught.

Celebrity news filled his phone screen as he tucked his legs under him, still occasionally running his hands over the material of the dress and grinning with delight. He found some new pages to follow, but ultimately spent the evening hitting refresh at 30 second intervals. His favorite artist was dropping a new album sometime today. Any minute now.

He clicked 'Allow Notifications' on the screen, trying something new. He could always turn it off later if they were too invasive.

He heard the front door open and his heart skittered in his chest. The urge to rush back to the bathroom and lock the door struck him. But when he remembered dark eyes lingering on a similar dress when Mila wore it— dark eyes that more often lingered _on him_ — he pushed the urge down and swallowed it whole. He stood from the couch and faced the door, looking as casual as he could muster.

“Yura? I got you some-”

That same look pinned Yuri to the wall. Otabek placed a brown paper bag on the floor, eyes never leaving as he pushed the door shut behind him with his foot.

“Got me what?” Yuri asked like it was nothing at all.

“Your thing is better,” Otabek said quickly.

Eyes left him momentarily as Otabek uncoiled the scarf at his neck and hung his coat by the door, then calmly removed his boots and lined them neatly.

Yuri's phone dinged from the couch. It was hard to imagine that might have meant something meaningful to him a couple of minutes ago, before dark eyes settled on him once more.

“Can I do something for you?” Otabek asked.

Okay. Not exactly the reaction he'd been hoping for.

“You said yourself; you don't work for me anymore,” Yuri said flippantly. Otabek had never worked for Yuri, really, but details. The wind whipped the outside wall of the apartment, creating the lightest draft in the room and Yuri noticed for all the clothes he wasn't wearing. Potya mewled and jumped away from the window, favoring a spot by the heater instead.

Otabek didn't move. “Is that a yes?” he asked.

Yuri huffed. “Get your sexy ass over here, Beka.”

Otabek wasted no time. He covered the distance between them in three long strides. The gold of Yuri's dress caught and snatched at Otabek's jeans. Their lips brushed.

Yuri felt the ghost of snowflakes on Otabek's lips, tingling either as a memory of their first kiss or the outside gust of cold seeped into Otabek's skin. Heat thawed the ice when Otabek gasped and took Yuri with open-mouthed greed. His fingers were cold as they wove through Yuri's hair, wrapping his knuckles tight enough to make Yuri think of prepping for a spar at the gym.

The celebrity gossip notification chimed again with insistence as they tumbled to dirty the bed they'd shared innocently for weeks. Otabek's wide hands warmed slowly as he slipped the dress from Yuri's body like a prize he'd finished enjoying.

Experienced fingers pulled down Yuri's briefs. Yuri spread his legs wide, presenting every private inch of his body. He'd waited too long to see what Otabek's dark eyes would do with his naked flesh.

“Flexible,” Otabek said, eyes touching him everywhere with burning intensity.

From light touches in the stairwell to corner-turned smiles in the kitchen, Otabek had never been shy with Yuri about his attraction to the male form. So of course Otabek's eyes traveled over Yuri's flushed skin and settled wherever they pleased— Yuri's eyes, his lips, the bracelet around his wrist. His lithe chest and his heavy erection.

“Ballet, remember?” Yuri answered after a long delay and despite the absence of a question.

“Could be useful,” Otabek commented. His biceps bulked and his chest flexed as he threw his shirt over his head, revealing the disquieting pink smile of stitches almost healed. Yuri ghosted two fingers over the wound marring Otabek's side, inspecting with care. Otabek watched him with patient eyes. He didn't flinch.

Yuri's heart ached from the memory of Otabek slumped over the steering wheel, unresponsive, his heart pumping life from him with adrenaline-fueled urgency.

They'd kill that bastard, Gavril, soon.

The rip of a zipper dragged Yuri back to the present. His eyes raked over thick, tanned thighs as Otabek slid from the rest of his clothes. That exposed Kazakh cock was something to behold.

“I don't have anything,” Yuri said bluntly, failing to address the logistics of the situation with any delicacy.

Otabek shrugged, then graced Yuri with the smooth expanse of his skin, pressing their foreheads and sliding his bare length with a long drag against Yuri that felt so fucking _good._

“Don't need anything to pleasure you, Yura,” Otabek said.

Yuri kissed him and Otabek obediently opened his mouth, welcoming the deep plunge of Yuri's tongue. Sweet apples on Otabek's breath prickled Yuri's senses and he inhaled, taking in the scent of Otabek's hair, pleasantly clean and vaguely sandy.

Yuri always knew he was gay. He knew he liked thick muscles and the heavy bob of a cock. He knew he liked to kiss a man breathless and bring him to his knees.

What he didn't know, before Otabek, was how starved he could be for touch. Otabek's hands were criminal, touching with the precision of a practiced car jacker, the strength of a butcher, and the care of a lover as he chopped at Yuri's heart and plucked all the right wires.

Otabek's thick fingers wrapped around him, bringing their erections together in his fist and rocking his hips. Yuri wondered if Otabek had taken many lovers. Otabek's fingers gripped and slid in a comfortable way, his breath catching in awe each time he made Yuri writhe or moan.

“Really should have done this that night,” Yuri gasped out. Otabek gripped him tighter.

“The party was fun, too,” Otabek said dryly and Yuri couldn't help but laugh.

The gold dress shimmered in a heap on the floor, catching the light as wind jostled the tree by the window. Their hurried breaths filled the room. Yuri thought about how he'd like to get fucked by Otabek sometime, wearing that dress, the sequins jostling noisily on every thrust.

“God, Beka, _take me_ ,” Yuri breathed, arching his back on the mattress to slip more against that delicious heat. Otabek brushed their lips again and— _fuck_ — literally chuckled a breath into Yuri's mouth, low and inviting.

Yuri had never tasted anything sweeter than the apples on his breath. He dug his nails into Otabek's shoulders, spilling over them and slipping into his own wet heat. When he opened his eyes, Otabek was watching. Otabek's lips parted on a groan and he followed after, chasing Yuri with stuttering hips.

Otabek gave his sticky hand a quick once over, then wiped it on the sheet beside them. His chest heaved with strong, gulping breaths and he winced a bit, gripping his side as he lowered himself to the clean side of the bed.

“Still hurting?” Yuri asked quietly, almost embarrassed. He pulled the sheet up and tucked himself in. It was strange having Otabek look at him unaroused.

“A bit,” Otabek said, lying on his back to take some of the pressure off his side. The door creaked open as Potya wandered in with a soft chirp and an upright flick of her fluffy tail. She thudded lightly on the bed beside them and Otabek scratched her chin.

“I liked the outfit,” Otabek said.

“I knew you would,” Yuri replied. “It looked like the one Mila wore.”

Otabek hummed to himself, watching Potya purr like fluffy putty in his hands. Yuri could relate.

“It's a nice color,” Otabek offered.

“Could've fooled me with how quick you were to get it off,” Yuri grumbled.

“I wanted to finally see you,” Otabek said easily and Yuri's heart fluttered.

Otabek pulled his hand from Potya and tucked a strand of Yuri's hair behind his ear, caressing Yuri's cheek with his thumb. Fingers trailed down Yuri's arm with a warm tingle, then pinched Jupiter, skimmed Saturn, moved around the charm bracelet until they landed firmly on Earth. 

If Cosmonautics Day hadn't already been Yuri's favorite, it certainly would have been now.

“You can leave it on next time,” Otabek said softly. Yuri wasn't sure if it was an extended offer or a request, but it didn't matter because leaving the dress on next time was non-negotiable. The _existence_ of a next time was non-negotiable.

“We're going to fuck each other's brains out,” Yuri informed Otabek.

“Okay,” Otabek said.

 _Okay_ , Yuri repeated inwardly with a laugh on his lips before Otabek swept him into another kiss, aligning the stars anew.


End file.
